


Hot Seat

by BiancaBurkle



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiancaBurkle/pseuds/BiancaBurkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and Hawke have many things in common, one of which is a love of fine furniture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Seat

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic. Be gentle!
> 
> I obviously own nothing.

Hawke hummed under her breath as she gently wiggled her lock picks in Varric's door. "Why lock the door? I was invited!" She sighed as the door popped open, grinning to herself. Occasion be damned, picking locks was always fun. She walked into the room, not bothering to hide what she was doing. Everyone at The Hanged Man knew who she was and what (who) she was doing anyway. 

Her eyes scanned the room as she stepped inside the door. Empty. Where was Varric? 

Her gaze was caught by an unexpected sight. Was that? Yes. That was a new chair, in her favorite spot by the fire, where the old chair used to be. Intrigued, she moved toward it. "Do you like it?" A husky voice drawled from behind her. "I saw it and thought we might put it to good use. You know, since the last one met with...an unfortunate end."

She smirked as she turned to face her mischievous dwarf. "Unfortunate? We smashed it to bits, and I almost landed in the fire!"

"I recall being the one who broke your fall. Give me some credit here, woman!" 

"Is it really credit that you're after?" Hawke purred, hand on her hip. "I can think of better things than that."

Varric chuckled as he walked up and nuzzled the hollow of Marian's throat. He trailed kisses along her collarbone, before reaching up to unlace and unbuckle the layers between them. Her breath caught as his fingers found bare skin, and she reached out to grip the back of Varric's neck.

"Mmmm...test run?" He looked up into eyes gone glassy with desire. Maker, he loved this woman. Beautiful, charming, cunning, and the best friend he had ever had. Small wonder he was head over heels for the one and only Marian Hawke. 

"I like the cut of your jib, sir." was her mocking retort. Varric groaned. "You've been spending way too much time with Rivaini. Next thing I know, you'll be burning every pair of pants you own!" He paused. "Not that I would necessarily object, mind you."

Marian threw a smile over her shoulder as she turned and finished stripping, clothes flying to every corner of the room. Naked Hawke was a sight that Varric could be fairly confident he would never tire of, not if he lived to be older than the Stone or the Maker or anything else that implied extreme, unnatural age. He ran a hand softly over the curve of her bare hip, over her pleasantly round backside, to trace a finger over the back of her thigh. He marveled at her soft skin, attention caught as though he was touching her for the first time.

Marian's eyes were half-closed, arms hanging loosely, content to let him caress and explore. She loved his hands, his touch, the way he looked at her. She loved him, and she thanked the Maker every day for bringing them together that day outside of Bartrand's office. As Varric began to trace a finger down the crease of one leg, she murmured "You still seem to be wearing a distressing number of clothes, love."

"A thousand pardons, my dear, but I seem to have gotten distracted along the way." Warm lips closed around her right nipple, suckling gently, while that brilliant finger of his finally began circling her clit with a practiced motion. She gave a low moan as he rubbed forward and back over her nub, his other arm tight around her waist. He switched to her left breast, teeth grazing before his tongue came to lave the spot.

Eyes closed tight against the swirl of sensations, Marian clung to Varric's broad shoulders. As the minutes went by, his hand flashed faster between her legs, his teeth nipped roughly at any skin he could reach, and his arm held her tight enough to bruise. "Varric. Varric!"

"Yes, sweetheart, come for me. Can you do that? Come for me, Marian." She wailed, and her body went rigid. He caught her as her legs went boneless. Giving a sweet smile, she kissed him deeply, running her long fingers through his hair, tugging out the tie and flinging it over her shoulder. Steady on her feet at last, she stepped back a pace.

"Strip. Now. Before I combust," she commanded. He was only too happy to comply. Marian leaned against the new chair, finally noting how the low seat was carved from a single piece of stone. It was rounded at the edges, with a thin cushion. Better still, it had no arms to get in her way. It seemed, in all respects, exactly what she and Varric wanted from a (sex) chair. She thought it unlikely that such a chair had simply been found while strolling the Lowtown market, and resolved to get the story out of him. Later. Much later, when they were no longer...occupied.

Turning back to the object of her desire, Marian realized she had missed half the show. Varric stood barefoot, folding his shirt. She could see muscles playing under the skin of his back, and swallowed, thinking of his strength. Maker's breath, there wasn't a single thing about him that didn't turn her on. She walked over. "Let me help," she murmured, reaching for the laces of his pants. It was Varric's turn to swallow helplessly as her clever fingers cajoled the knot open.

Hawke sank to her knees, never breaking eye contact. She nuzzled at the hard length presented to her, and ran her fingernails lightly over his hips. She smirked to herself as the neatly folded shirt dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. In a blink she yanked pants and smalls to his ankles, and encouraged him to step out. As a reward for promptly obeying her wishes, she swallowed Varric's impressive erection in one smooth movement. She hummed as she slowly bobbed up and down his shaft. Thick fingers ran through her hair, tugging lightly. She pulled off, running calloused fingers up over a muscled abdomen.

Varric grabbed a delicate wrist, urging his love to her feet. She was only too eager, laughing and pulling him over to the newly acquired chair. He sat, landing heavily in their haste. Without a moment's delay he had a lap full of Marian. He grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, lifting her slightly and pulling her down to swiftly encase himself in her wet heat. 

Marian groaned; she began babbling incoherently as she moved atop him. Her hands gripped the back of the chair, aiding her frantic movements. Varric growled low in his throat as he held tightly to her waist. He stilled her movements. "Take a moment, sweetheart. Did I not find us a marvel of dwarven craftsmanship?" She glared down at him before wiggling saucily.

"By 'find,' do you actually mean 'had constructed to your exact specifications?'" She asked this in a husky rasp while leaning forward, ostensibly to inspect what she could see of the back of the chair. 

Varric wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her tightly, and proceeded to worry her nipple with his teeth. "Mmmmhmmm...of course I do. Don't we deserve nice things?" His hands ran down, from her waist to her hips to her thighs. She squeaked as he trailed over a ticklish spot behind her knee, before giggling madly. He loved that she was still capable of such a carefree sound, knowing the life she led, and the sorrows she had endured. Beyond that, he loved being the only one privileged enough to witness it. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think it's a marvel of dwarven craftsmanship. I love it. I love you. Can I please fuck you now?" She was rhythmically tightening her inner walls while one hand ran through his chest hair, and the other held the chair for balance. Patience had never been high on Hawke's list of priorities, and who could blame her now? Certainly not Varric, who decided his games had gone on long enough. He grabbed his lover by the neck to roughly bring her down for a fierce meeting of lips and teeth and tongues, while thrusting up hard into her body.

Movement became frantic as they moved together, skin slipping and sliding with sweat. Marian's breaths were harsh as she grabbed Varric's hand and brought it to the nub between her legs. His thumb moved quickly, in time with his hips. She rode him hard, finding purchase with her knees on the cleverly constructed seat. She was close, so close, and as his lips sucked a bruise on her neck she came with a cry. He was right behind her, following her over the edge.

Neither could do more than cling to the other as they slowly regained their senses. Hawke finally raised her head and looked down at Varric. "Just one question."

"Yes, my love?"

"Why did I have to break into the room, if I was supposed to come find the chair?"

Varric chuckled. "What kind of present would it have been if you didn't get to unwrap it?" 

His laughter was contagious, and they stumbled, still giggling like mad, into bed.


End file.
